Luck is Not Always a Lady
by LaCorelli
Summary: A series of unfortunate events make Wickham's entrance into Meryton quite a different spectacle. And five months later, he learns that luck can be even less of a lady. Now a two shot.
1. Luck is Not Always a Lady

**Author's Notes:** As I was reading Aureader's "Sense of Obligation." I was reminded of just how much I enjoy seeing Wickham suffer, even in little ways, and thus was inspired to write this little offering, my first complete Pride & Prejudice story (I do have another much longer one in progress, but it's a long way from seeing the light of the internet).

And as always, I have to thank Ghetto Outlaw for his mad betaing skills.

**Luck is Not Always a Lady**

George Wickham's head pounded worse and worse with each step the nag of a horse took on the road, and the contents of the flask he carried did little to assuage the pain. How much further was it to Mar... Mert... Meryton? Blast Denny! He _would_ decide to leave without him just because his luck at cards was better. It was not like Denny needed the money as much as he did anyway.

He had celebrated a bit too much the evening before after skimming Denny and a couple of strangers at cards and woke with the devil of a hangover, too late for the post carriage, but much as he wanted to spend the day in bed he knew he had to get to Meryton, and had hired this poor excuse for a beast to get him out of town. Other than his success the night before, he had been losing more than winning, and he had just enough to buy a commission in the militia. Not that he was particularly eager to join, but after hearing Denny rave about the opportunities a man in a red coat had, he figured it would improve his chances of charming his way into a fortune or at least into a long line of credit.

Lost in thoughts of what he would do once in the militia, he neglected to notice the flock of geese near the road way until they suddenly startled his horse throwing him off onto the muddy lane. Still half drunk and stunned by his fall into the mud, Wickham could only stare dumbly as his borrowed horse took off running.

"Damn, damn, damn," he muttered as the beast disappeared. A cacophony of honking assaulted his ears and before he could react, he was suddenly assaulted by the flock of geese who seemed offended by his presence. One particularly big bird went for his face biting his nose and cheeks before he could get his hand up. Scrambling to his feet, he struck wildly at the birds that attacked him with such ferocity, nipping at his legs and making him fear for his manhood if not his life. It was all he could do to get away from the angry birds, running until he was out of sight then vomiting at the side of the road while he tried to catch his breath, not a good combination.

Battered, bruised, and muddy, Wickham continued his journey on foot. To his relief he saw he was near the outskirts of a village. He must have been nearer to Meryton than he realized. He tried brushing the mud off his clothes before giving up and limping into town. Perhaps he could say he had been attacked by highwaymen. That would be a good tale, especially once he could get into uniform. He had started working out the details of his bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, when he spotted his hired nag standing peacefully as if it had not a care in the world. Stupid animal. He started heading toward the beast when he was stopped by the sight of a small crowd down the street wherein his erstwhile friend Denny was laughing and talking with a couple of young ladies who seemed to be hanging on his every word.

_No wonder he was in such a hurry to get back_, Wickham thought. It took Wickham a moment to look beyond Denny and notice the gentlemen on the outer edges of the group. Two were unfamiliar, but the third he knew too well. _Darcy! Damn and blast, what is he doing here?_ Wickham wondered if he could slink out of sight before the man spotted him. He had no idea what Darcy might do if they met, but he had no intention of letting Darcy see him in his bedraggled state.

He started to slink towards a nearby building when out of nowhere he heard a fierce yapping and a furry object launched itself at him. As he twisted, he could feel something grab at his breeches and heard a ripping sound. Lashing out at the animal that attacked him, he lost his balance and managed to fall face first into a pile of fresh horse droppings, deposited by the ungrateful rented nag. Angrily he got to his feet, a stream of profanities pouring from his lips. He could see Denny openly laughing at him along with the two girls he had been speaking with, while Darcy regarded him with open derision.

George Wickham was a gambler who liked to take chances, the few times they paid off were enough to keep him going, but he was also a man who believed in luck, good and bad. And the bad luck that plagued him that day, most especially the bad luck of Darcy seeing him in such a state, was enough to convince him that Meryton was not the place for him. He grabbed the reins of his wayward horse and with a futile attempt at dignity struggled into the saddle and turned to head back the way he came. Now that he had his saddle bags back, he would try cleaning himself up if he could find a convenient stream. He remembered Lucy Younge telling him of a rich widow with no family who might be susceptible to the charms of the right young man. Once his bruises healed, he might just try his hand, since vulnerable young heiresses were getting harder to come by. Yes, that was a better plan. Meryton could go to blazes, and Darcy was welcome to it. He was probably miserable there anyway.

~o~O~o~

"Mr. Darcy, is that a smile?" Elizabeth Bennet asked in astonishment. She stood near him a little separated from the group, as Mr. Collins was in the midst of harangue on the ungentlemanly language of the man who had been the center of the recent spectacle. Only Mary was paying attention, but Mr. Bingley and Mr. Denny were unfortunately too close to actively ignore him.

"I really could not say, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, as he attempted to control his urge to laugh at the image of George Wickham, covered in horse leavings, his torn breeches exposing his undergarments to the world (though he was grateful the man had some on so that the ladies would not be exposed to the man's bared buttocks). "But it seems if I am, I am not the only one." She had been repressing a laugh herself; he could tell. His determination to avoid her had once again been weaker than his desire for her company.

"I have already admitted that follies do divert me, though it seems rather cruel to laugh at such a spectacle," Elizabeth said.

"But not to be amused," Darcy said. "I would say _that_ gentleman does not require much sympathy."

"I would say that I agree, especially since I have never known that dog to attack anyone unprovoked, but if I did, that would be shockingly unladylike, would it not?" Elizabeth said with just the slightest sly smile. "And I think we have all received enough shocks today."

He studied her expression for a moment. He thought about how she became more fascinating with every encounter and found himself looking forward to their next meeting and what she might say or do to intrigue him further.

"Indeed," Darcy replied. "Enough shocks."

_For today._

~tbc~

**End Notes:**

I originally was going to have more horrible things happen to Wickham: slapped by a barmaid, clawed by a cat, stung by bees or hornets (but it was the wrong time of year, I think), a serious hit between the legs, and so forth, but I thought that all might be a bit too much. I suppose even Wickham deserves a slight break, though not that big a break as the widow he's interested in is a high maintenance harpy who'd keep any man on a short leash and possibly a choke collar. And my initial thought was to end the story when Wickham left town, but I couldn't resist having a small Darcy/Elizabeth bit in the end, as I needed to have a couple of characters I actually liked in there somewhere. There is a tiny part of me that would like to explore what might change with Wickham so completely out of the picture, but this is most definitely a one shot.

By the way is there a term for a story that's all about gleefully tormenting a villain for laughs? Comeuppance tale? _Schadenfreude_? Oh, well, I hope this story entertains others as much as it entertained me when I was writing it.

In any event all reviews are welcome—especially since this is my first posting in this category, and I'm a little nervous about this—even if it's just to say I'm too mean or not mean enough to the parasitic loser that is George Wickham.

**Edited to add  
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It is a mistake to be too definite (except in the case of Lizzy and Darcy; I will never pair them with anyone else), as there is now a second part.


	2. Luck is Sometimes Even Less of a Lady

**Author's Notes:** Okay, I changed my mind and decided to go a little bit further with this tale of Wickham's bad luck. This second part fits the T-rating a bit more thoroughly with a layer of innuendo throughout and some minor coarse language.

**Part 2**

**Luck is Sometimes Even Less of a Lady**

**Five Months Later**

George Wickham—well, it was no longer Wickham, was it?— looked longingly at the punch bowl and then at the reason why he both wanted to be at the bowl and was not allowed. He glanced around at the assembled throng attending Lord and Lady Gordon's ball, wishing he could feel a thrill at being among such illustrious personages; at one time he would have seen it as a great opportunity, but now...

"Do not slouch, George," Maria's superior tone made him flinch.

"No, dearest," he said dutifully.

"Remember, you are now my husband and a Montcraven; use your charms wisely."

"Yes, dearest," he muttered agreeably, while inwardly cursing Lucy Younge for putting him in the path of Maria Montcraven. She must have still been angry about Ramsgate.

Oh, Maria had been easy enough to charm, as Lucy had promised. In fact having been widowed two years and bored with the condition she had been looking for a man with charm and a need for money, of which she had plenty and under her own control. Her father had seen to that. Richard Montcraven had had no son, no entailment, and he had arranged things so that his daughter would have complete control of the fortune and any man who married her would have to agree to take the family name. He had also put enough security around that fortune that no man could wrest it from her without her consent, and Maria Montcraven was not the kind to easily relinquish control of what was hers as the first Mr. Montcraven had probably learned to his regret, though he had certainly escaped the bonds of matrimony in a rather permanent fashion, which George now believed he should have inquired a little more closely into before getting involved with Mrs. Montcraven. He especially started to wonder once Maria had laid out her terms of matrimony with a thoroughness that had discomposed him utterly. She knew about every one of his debts and just about every one of his misadventures and pointed out that a change of name would probably be in the best interests of his health and happiness.

He agreed about his health. He no longer agreed about his happiness. Oh, she had seen him fitted out with the wardrobe of a gentleman and made sure that all bills were sent directly to her financial manager so that he could not skim any of the funds to add to the allowance she considered generous. And it had seemed generous at the time she had offered it, but then quite a few things seem generous when there are dangerous men with heavy and sharp implements threatening to make the possibilities of future reproduction impossible if money is not forthcoming. And it was not as if he had to spend every minute with her, but if he overspent his funds nothing more would be forthcoming until the next quarter. She seemed quite deaf to his entreaties and possessed an eagle eye for the household and personal inventory, and her staff all seemed equally immune to any form of cajolery on his part. He _most_ certainly should have made much closer inquiries into Maria Montcraven rather than trusted Lucy Younge's judgement that she was just the right type of lady to solve his fiscal difficulties. After the wedding he had learned that one of Maria's agents had paid Mrs. Younge for information on _him_.

Apparently his attention had drifted too much as she suddenly tapped his arm with her fan. "Now, George, I see Honoria Stewart with Mr. Darcy and his bride. I absolutely must meet the nobody who snatched _that_ matrimonial prize."

Looking around the crowds, George could just make out Darcy's profile in the crowd. Trepidatious at the thought of facing him, he tried demurring. "Dearest, I don't think..."

"Nonsense, George," Maria interrupted, "Mr. Darcy is hardly going to give you the cut direct at Lady Gordon's ball, especially not while with his country bride. It might give people the impression that he had taken offense that you'd gotten under her skirts before he did..." She paused and looked him in the eye, placing the tip of her fan under his chin. "So, George dear, with that in mind, be polite, but reserve your charm for me."

George swallowed and then forced a smile. "Always, dearest."

"Good now, come along," she said, putting her arm through his, though she was most certainly the one guiding them through the crowd.

As they moved, George would admit that he had a certain amount of curiosity about the woman who had managed to trap Darcy. Because that was what the majority of the rumors were since as far as anyone knew she had no wealth and no consequence to speak of. Though she would have to be quite the clever girl (or have quite the clever family) to have trapped Darcy, who had been raised at his father's knee to be more than wary of every stratagem of those hoping to trick or trap him into matrimony, and George had seen him dodge more than a few tricky maneuvers over the years.

It was puzzling. While he had often been quite gleeful in using Lady Catherine's hopes for a union between Darcy and her daughter as a way of making Darcy more coldly unattainable and himself more sympathetic, George had never seriously believed that Darcy would actually marry his cousin, as he knew the man was too proud and concerned with his heritage to even consider risking it marrying someone so obviously sickly and unlikely to be able to carry an heir to term. However, he had always thought it would be someone of the same background, some titled heiress with a pedigree as long and dull as Darcy's whom he would offer for after a long and complicated negotiation with her father.

And as for the notion that this might be a love match, George found that even more unlikely than Darcy had managed for once to have a lapse of attention and been ensnared in someone else's design. But then George had no real idea of what kind of woman would draw Darcy's attention, as Darcy had always been so very fastidious in his personal behavior, looking down on George for what he called his "licentious ways" from the time George had first noticed what girls were hiding under their clothes, so if Darcy had ever indulged his own appetites— if he even had them (which George was inclined to doubt, as he believed the man had ice in his veins)— he had been so discreet that George had never even heard a whisper, and he_ had_ looked for any chink in that prig's armor of self-righteousness, just one good vice he could have thrown back in his face. So he doubted the man would even know what to do with a woman much less be overcome with passion in the wilds of Hertfordshire.

They had finally neared the group, and George put on his most unconcerned expression.

"Sir Nicholas, Lady Stewart," Maria's voice rang out. "I thought I would never find you in this crush."

"Oh, I never doubted your ability, Mrs. Montcraven," Sir Nicholas said cynically.

"Pay no notice to my husband, Mrs. Montcraven," Lady Stewart said. "He has been in a poor mood all day. I have been looking for you myself; I have no notion what Helen was thinking to invite so many people. Have you met the Darcys yet? Do come along."

George could feel his wife's fingers digging into his arm as a reminder to be on his best behavior, but he was equally determined that if anyone would be said to behave badly it would not be him. He was sure he appeared perfectly cool when he actually stood face to face with Darcy and his new wife, who fulfilled none of his possible expectations. A small brunette with a light though not too slender figure, she neither was a classic beauty nor overtly sensual in appearance. There appeared to be nothing out of the common way about her, though George certainly would not have minded an opportunity to find out what treasures she might be hiding under that dress. A further tightening of his wife's fingers brought his attention back, and by Darcy's glower, he knew his slight appraisal had not gone unnoticed.

Lady Stewart was speaking. "...And it is so intriguing to see so many newly wed couples together this evening. Mr. and Mrs. Montcraven, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, Mr. and Mrs. Montcraven."

Maria and Mrs. Darcy curtsied slightly while the men bowed, Darcy's bow being so slight as to be nearly nonexistent.

"Mr... Montcraven and I have met before," Darcy said coolly.

"That would be before he became Mr. Montcraven, would it not?" Lady Stewart said. "Such a reversal of the usual circumstances."

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Darcy interjected, in apparent surprise.

George tried not to react at Maria's supercilious voice as she answered. "The Montcraven name is a much older and more illustrious name, Mrs. Darcy, and it was a condition of the marriage contract. My husband understands well the importance of a name, is not that so?"

"Absolutely, Mrs. Montcraven, and I am the most fortunate of men to have found you."

"I wonder if John Wickham would share those sentiments," Darcy said quietly.

George felt himself redden as he took in the double meaning. His father had been both proud of his own accomplishments and ashamed of his son's near the end of his life. _Pompous prig. _

"Mr. Montcraven, forgive me," Mrs. Darcy interjected, "but I feel as if we may have met before, but I am afraid I cannot recall the details."

George was surprised to see a sudden trace of a smile appear on Darcy's face. "If you would cast your mind back to last November and a certain horse and dog."

_Bloody hell, Darcy's bit of fluff was there_, George thought, casting back trying to recall. Other than Darcy and Denny, he could not remember anything other than a couple of giggling girls, and he was sure that Mrs. Darcy had not been one of them.

"Oh, that was the day I first saw you smile," Mrs. Darcy said, looking at her husband and George could swear he saw a flash of passion pass between them. "I almost feel as if I should thank you, Mr. Montcraven, as that day marked the beginning of our courtship." She looked at him with a bright smile and a sparkle in her eyes, and he knew then that she knew everything, and what was worse, she was a sanctimonious tease, a bloody perfect counterpoint to Darcy. Hopefully she would drive him mad.

_Damn it all to hell_. Well, he would still play the game. "It is my pleasure to bring two such well suited souls together," he said.

"I shall probably never be more grateful to you," Darcy said, his dry tone conveying little emotion. He glanced around. "Now if you could excuse us, there is someone I should speak to." He nodded to the group, while putting his hand over his wife's on his arm and walked off.

Maria watched them depart with a spiteful little smile on her lips. "So that is the country bride. I must admit I was expecting something... more. After all, Fitzwilliam Darcy was so elusive. Not that they stayed long enough to let us speak to her. He was probably afraid her country manners would show too much. But I would love to know how she managed to catch him."

"Probably through the same miserable sense of humor," George muttered, but was ignored, as Lady Stewart spoke.

"Oh, Mrs. Montcraven, Fitzwilliam Darcy has ever been his own man; like you, he has always known what he wanted. He simply has a different set of standards. Which reminds me, I have not yet asked you about your latest acquisition."

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean to my stables?" she asked.

Lady Stewart smiled disingenuously. "Of course. It was a stud, was it not?"

Maria frowned. "No, a gelding."

George watched as Lady Stewart's gaze slid over to him with a slight smirk. "Oh, what a pity," she replied.

George looked desperately around for the punch bowl.

~o~O~o~

As Darcy maneuvered the pair of them towards a quiet corner of the room, a small smile played over his lips. When Elizabeth quietly inquired as to the reason, Darcy replied, "The sight of George Wickham married to Maria Montcraven has almost made our appearance here worthwhile."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Almost, sir?" she asked.

Leaning close to his wife's ear, he whispered. "I still say that we would have found more pleasure remaining at home in our rooms exploring the mysteries of God's creation."

Flushing slightly, Elizabeth replied, just as quietly, "There is no reason why we cannot do that when we return, sir." Then in a more normal tone continued, "Besides, Mr. Darcy, if we did not attend, how could you practice your conversational skills and how could I improve my impressions? Have we learned nothing over the past few months, sir?"

His smile took on a slightly wicked aspect as he replied, "We have learned many things, madam, but forgive me if I prefer some of my more recent lessons in pleasing a woman worthy of being pleased."

"Well, Mr. Darcy, this woman will be most willing to please you later, if you will do your duty now," Elizabeth said easily. "Now, was there a particular party you were seeking out or simply an escape?"

"Both, for if I must be forced to converse I would prefer it to be with more congenial companions, and I cannot imagine that you wished to linger. I also prefer having you to myself if only for a moment."

"I might have enjoyed conversing further with Sir Nicholas and Lady Stewart, perhaps, but not Mr. and Mrs. Montcraven. However, I am afraid I am not tall enough to peer over this crowd nor is this my circle of acquaintance, so I will have to rely upon you to be my guide."

Darcy was glancing around with an air of indifference, then said, "Though this does not fulfill the requirements of conversing with strangers or acquaintances, I think I may be forgiven for the fact that I have just spotted Mr. Bingley and your sister."

Elizabeth smiled brightly. "Oh, I was sure they would never make it into town in time. Jane was reluctant to leave Mary as the only other married daughter near Mama just now."

"Was that in the letter from Mrs. Collins you received today?" he asked. "I did not like to inquire."

Elizabeth smiled. "Are you still concerned that their extending their visit is somehow connected to your relative? It is not. Mama misses Kitty and Lydia now that they have been sent away to school and is taking solace in the daughter she can keep at hand, and Mr. Collins is apparently quite eager to begin learning the rudiments of estate management from Papa. Perhaps _he_ might be inclined to extend some blame, but I am pleased to see him stirring from his bookroom. Who knew that Mary would be such a good influence on our cousin? Now where is Jane?"

Taking her husband's arm, Elizabeth urged him out of their quiet corner. His small smile was almost enough to make her want to fake a sprain or some other small indisposition to allow them to end the evening early. She still had some difficulty believing in the good fortune that had led her to marry the man who in disposition and talents most suited her. Six months ago if any one had told her that she would be married to Fitzwilliam Darcy by Spring, she would have thought them mad. He was thoroughly disagreeable and far too proud, and yet one very unusual day she caught a glimpse of a different man beneath the surface, and everything changed. After all she did enjoy follies and nonsense, and that little scene was nothing if not that, and she had been diverted to discover that despite her previous impression Mr. Darcy seemed as willing to be diverted as she had, though she also received the impression that he had a previous knowledge of the gentleman that gave the scene an additional amusement to him and added to her interest.

The shifting of her impressions had been helped when he had insisted on joining her on their walk back to Longbourn thus relieving her of the company of Mr. Collins who up until the incident of the man with the horse and dog had been far too attentive to her, and freeing that gentleman to accompany Mary who had been listening to him ever since he had most volubly protested the stranger's use of deplorable language in the presence of the fair sex. Their conversation had continued, and while it had perhaps not been particularly in depth, she had found herself enjoying it more than any other they had had. The evening of the Netherfield ball had been even better, and they had gotten to spend even more time over the next few weeks as Bingley had begun openly courting Jane, and a few days after her sister Mary's wedding to Mr. Collins in January, Darcy had himself proposed to Elizabeth, confessing his ardent love and admiration, feelings which by that time she fully reciprocated. And not quite two weeks before this night she married him, alongside her sister Jane and his friend Bingley in a double ceremony.

They had hardly made it a few steps toward their brother and sister when Bingley spotted them and hurried over with all the enthusiasm of a terrier pup. "Darcy, I am pleased to see you. I had half thought you had managed to send your regrets after all."

Jane and Elizabeth merely clasped hands while their husbands spoke.

"I am afraid not," Darcy said solemnly, with only a hint of a smile at his wife. "I had a promise to honor. We rather expected it would be you that would not make an appearance."

"Oh, well, we had a late start. Caroline was determined to shine tonight, as she is determined to capture some elusive heart or other," Bingley said one hand waving vaguely.

"And where is Miss Bingley?" Darcy inquired, clearing noting her absence.

"She had a slight mishap when we entered," Jane said softly with a glance at her husband, more towards Elizabeth. "Someone trod on the hem of her dress. Louisa is helping her with the repairs."

"We were charged with the office of finding you," Bingley added. "She is eager to pay her respects to you and Mrs. Darcy."

What was left unsaid was that Miss Bingley wanted to be sure to make the most of her current connection little though she had relished losing out the prize of Pemberley to a country upstart. After all, she was still a single woman in possession of a good dowry in want of a well connected and wealthy husband. And Elizabeth would put no impediments in her path, for the sooner Miss Bingley found a husband of her own, the sooner her sister would have her own home to herself, with the added inducement that it would be easier to not invite a married Caroline to visit at Pemberley, as Miss Bingley's tardy pleasantries hardly made up for her previous spitefulness.

With a polite smile, Elizabeth said, "Is there any of her particular acquaintance here tonight?"

"I believe she is hoping to see a Miss Crawford and her brother," Jane said.

"Henry Crawford of Everingham," Bingley said, and in a low voice added, "Louisa thinks he might be quite suitable for Caroline." Then looking around. "Oh, I think the dancing is about to begin. Well, it is Caroline's misfortune if she has not found us yet, as I believe our wives owe us a dance, do they not?"

Darcy smiled. "Indeed they do."

~o~O~o~

It was a few hours later when Darcy finally convinced his wife that he had sufficiently fulfilled his promise, and they could make their excuses to leave for home. He had conversed with more people than he cared to, but it had been made simpler by his wife's ease and liveliness. No one seemed to intimidate her and attempted snubs seemed merely to amuse her. But what pleased him most were the times he could steal her away to a quiet corner for a moment's flirtation.

As he and Elizabeth were awaiting their carriage, Darcy saw George Wick... Montcraven standing across the room. The man was standing next to a column, leaning upright against it a glazed look in his eyes and a fixed smile on his face, listening to his wife who spoke without particularly noting if he were listening or not. Curiously, as Darcy looked at him, he felt none of his old sense of anger and contempt but instead a strange sense of relief in realizing that Wickham— he could never get used to the new name no matter how appropriate— had married the one woman whose own selfishness rivaled Wickham's own and whose control of the purse strings would guarantee his good behavior for life. It was almost as if the fates had designed them for one another.

Still, if Wickham had not made such a fool of himself in Meryton, Darcy would likely have never smiled and caught Elizabeth's attention. They might have parted ways, each returning to their respective circles. Perhaps he would not have walked with her to Longbourn. The ball at Netherfield may have turned out very differently. He took Elizabeth's hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked up at him, smiled warmly, and leaned her head against his shoulder. In a sense, he owed much of his current good fortune to Mr. Montcraven.

Darcy looked from his wife back across the room. Mrs. Montcraven had not stopped talking. George looked tired and for a fleeting moment, Darcy felt a bit of pity for the man.

A very little bit.

The End

This Time for Certain.

**End Notes:** So after the lovely reviews, that little spark of curiosity I had about Wickham and the widow ignited into a full blown flame, and I so had to write a second part where the married and miserable Wickham met the married and happy Darcy with his Elizabeth.

This was also helped by the fact that TCM not too long before I started writing this showed the 1944 film _On Approval_ which has a truly self-involved widow not to mention a completely self-absorbed bachelor which helped inspire a bit of my harridan's personality traits and gave her the first name Maria, though I think she's got a touch of more than a few fictional harpies. The name Montcraven was my own notion, as I wanted Wickham's new name to have Craven in it, adding the prefix to soften it a bit; if it is a copy of any other name, it is unintentional. I know it may seem a bit much that I had Wickham take his wife's name, but names were very easy to change (think Frank Churchill formerly Weston from _Emma_), and when money is on the line, I don't think the man would quibble much.

Mary's Mr. Collins is not the oily little toad who makes piggy noises when he eats from the 1995 version of _Pride & Prejudice_. I love that adaptation best, but I absolutely loathe that bit of casting, especially since that's the first image of Mr. Collins that tends to pop into my head unless I work at it. I prefer the 2005's version, though my favorite Charlotte/Collins pairing was the one from 1940; they actually seemed like they could be happy together. However, I have recently heard that Matt Smith aka the Eleventh Doctor from _Doctor Who_ has been cast as Mr. Collins in _Pride & Prejudice & Zombies_, a book and movie I've no particular interest in as I'm not into zombies; that's more Ghetto Outlaw's field of interest. But even though I've got no idea how Matt Smith will play Mr. Collins, I now have a slightly eleventh Doctorish Mr. Collins in my head, and he's a vast improvement on the original.

Sadly I couldn't work in the Mary/Collins backstory in here. Suffice to say: Mr. Collins was genuinely interested in her, didn't have the notion that Darcy was engaged to Anne de Bourgh, and didn't tell Lady Catherine that Darcy was courting Elizabeth. Lady Catherine received news of the engagement directly from Darcy which is one of the reasons for their prolonged stay at Longbourn. However, in this story they are actually quite happy together; Mary's getting him to be less of a sycophant and he's giving her respect and affection. He's more of the socially awkward nerd overcompensating by sycophantic behavior (I'd never stick Mary with an oily toad). But alas, you won't be seeing any of that here. Though perhaps someday I'll be tempted to write a companion piece about these two.

And events here are set pre-_Mansfield Park_ so Henry Crawford hasn't been involved in any major scandal yet, but he's just as unlikely to be interested in matrimony. I had the notion of writing a scene where Caroline was trying to attract his attention while he was attempting to flirt with the married Elizabeth who shut him down cold, but like other bits that got cut before they were even written, it seemed counterproductive to the idea of a brief focused tale, but I did want to leave in the notion that Caroline has a tendency to focus on the wrong matrimonial targets, and Henry Crawford seemed to fit the bill nicely so the reference stayed.

In any event, I hope this perhaps odd mix of cruelty and fluff is entertaining to you all. All feedback is welcome and encouraged, especially for this second glance at the tricks fortune has played on the former George Wickham, and the glimpses into the happier fortunes of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy, and I hope that I succeeded in implying that the latter are indeed very happy together.


End file.
